


Aftermath

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: Cullen has a bit of a breakdown at the war table. Sulahn comes to find him afterwards.





	Aftermath

The creak of the ladder is followed by the appearance of deep red hair, though Sulahnassan’s head doesn’t come up higher than just below her eyes before she stops.

“Can I come up?” She chirps.

A fresh wave of shame rolls over him at the thought that she feels the need to ask, and Cullen drags a hand over his face, but nods. She is always welcome with him, even if he’s not sure he’s in any state to be a decent host.

She’s crouched by the bed a moment later, untying her boots and stepping out of them before climbing in beside him. She’s already dressed for bed and must have come here from her chambers, and she must be cold, it’s too far for her to walk that way, even with her cloak, and his room is barely warmer than the air outside, and a hundred other thoughts that well up in his mind as she tucks her legs under the blanket and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

He offers no resistance when she pulls him down until his head is resting in her lap. Instead he shifts, curing against her legs, one arm slung over her knees.

“How are you feeling?” The softness in her voice is too much, too sweet for him when he’s so jagged, and at first he can only shake his head, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

He doesn’t deserve any of her kindness, not after the fit he’d thrown at the war table earlier. When he closes his eyes, he can still see her eyes, wider and bluer than ever, a fear that he hadn’t seen in her since Haven, in the moment before she’d realized what she had to do, and then they’d parted.

And now they’re here.

Cullen clears his throat. “I– I’m sorry.”

Her fingers don’t stop their gentle paths through his hair, but she does shush him, a long, slow sound with no anger in it, like a new mother to a crying infant. He can’t help but think that it seems a more apt comparison for them, or at the very least for himself. It can scarcely be said that he feels like the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, or like the man Sulahnassan deserves.

“I asked you how you were feeling.”

“Better,” he mumbles, turning his head to press his face into the blanket. There is so little of her, limbs like willow branches, and even as he’s curled against her she still seems small, frail, her body’s size no fair indicator of the strength within her. Again, so different from him. “I slept a little, eventually. Cassandra was here; she said you’d spoken with her.”

She bounces lightly, all of her moving when she nods. “I did. I wanted her to hear it from someone who was there.”

Cassandra had come with elfroot and a low voice, cool hands on his temples as she scolded him. She, too, had been so understanding with him that he’d almost blown up again, nerves raw and shrieking under his skin, desperate for someone else to be as angry with him as he was with himself.

“And?” He grips her tighter as he waits for the answer.

“ _And_ , if you have another bad day, we move the meeting. We could’ve moved it today, Cullen, if you’d said something.” The hand that isn’t in his hair is on his neck, and she’s rubbing small circles behind his ear with her thumb.

“I didn’t want…” He sighs. “I don’t like admitting that this is affecting me.”

Sulahnassan clucks her tongue. “And I don’t want to do this without you, which means we need to make it work with you. You must let us help.”

He frowns, and he knows he’s being petulant, but it’s as if he can’t stop himself. “My welfare is not your responsibility.”

She slides her hand from his neck down to cup his chin and turn his head so that he’s looking up at her, as much as he is able. Her hair is loose, fallen down around her face where she’s tilted her head down to meet his eyes. Her bronze skin glows golden in the candlelight, her hair a deeper sort of flame, and the sun has drawn out even more freckles along her nose and cheeks. But warmest of all is her smile.

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “It is my privilege. I meant what I said. _I don’t want to do this without you_. I don’t want another Commander, I just got good at this one!” She grips his chin and shakes his head, but only a little, still careful with him. “So please, let us take care of you.”

“You have so much responsibility.” The thought of being one more for her to look after troubles him, and he turns away again, nestling against her and closing his eyes.

“And none of it would be easier if I no longer had you around to impress,” she insists, still infinitely patient with him, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “I need you here, _vhenan_. I trust you, your opinions, your instinct, like no one else. I know you think these things are failing you, but… I also know you’ll get through this. And no one expects you to do it alone.”

They are hard words to hear, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to accept them. He still sees it behind his eyes, the pieces scattering where he’d swept his arm over the table, and he hears Josephine’s gasp, sees Leliana put herself between him and the Inquisitor. Yet already the pain of it is fading, brushed away by her fingers in his hair. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps he can allow himself to believe that she’s right about him, at least for tonight. He nods, unable to summon more words to express his gratitude.

Sulahnassan douses the candles without his asking, and the last thing he recalls before he falls asleep is her singing a song in a language he recognizes, but can not understand. She sings with love, and it brings him comfort beyond words.


End file.
